Time's Tempest
by TakesTwoToTango
Summary: Life hasn't stopped at Ouran Academy, and neither has the Host Club. Now they face the challenges of a new arrival, and what such implications could mean for their futures. "Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?"--Garth Nix, Sabriel


Ch 1: One Flash

The Ouran High School Host Club was enjoying an off-hour at the beginning of the new school year in Music Room 3—Tamaki was off fantasizing about Haruhi, the twins were devising some mischievous, trouble-laden activity to ward off boredom, Kyoya was busily typing away the newest data on the club into his laptop, and the ever-faithful Haruhi was dutifully studying. That's why the shock was all the greater when a brunette youth, about Haruhi's age, raced into the music room, long legs striding like a champion's as he streaked across the room. His chestnut hair was short, but ruffled, and his green eyes sparkled with an almost eerie light at the joy of the chase. He wasn't in a school uniform—instead, he wore worn, faded blue jeans, a loose t-shirt screaming "You don't know me!" in English across his chest, and battered, well-used Converse All-Stars—bright neon blue in color.

"Hey—" a shocked, distracted Tamaki managed before the youth was away, vaulting up onto the counters before leaping up, latching onto the beams of the vaulted roof. Swinging up like a gymnast, he quickly balanced and made his way to the gently opened window, swinging out into the open air before anyone could draw another shocked breath.

The club members looked at each other for a few moments, mouths agape and eyebrows climbing into their hairline. Kyoya recovered first, followed by the Haruhi and the twins. Tamaki spent some time looking from the still-open door the kid had raced through to the counters where he had jumped up to the beams, small supports he had traversed with the grace of a dancer before gazing out the quiet window.

"Who the hell was that?" Tamaki finally managed, his voice a little choked, clearly shocked enough to actually curse.

"Who knows," Kyoya casually replied, returning to his typing as nonchalantly as if a breeze had blown through, not some ragged youth with a gleaming thrill in his verdant eyes. The rhythmic tapping soon soothed whatever ruffled nerves remained, and the club slowly sank back into some semblance of the tranquility they had been enjoying before the kid's arrival. Things were almost completely back to normal when they heard a muffled curse outside, uttered with enough venom to carry some distance. The members again gazed at each other silently for a few moments. As one, they shot to their feet, rushing to the window, tactfully wrestling to get the best view. Tamaki and the twins won out, their noses practically squashed against the glass, while Kyoya casually lounged to one side as Haruhi was squashed between Tamaki and Kaoru, her breathing becoming somewhat labored as the combined pressure started to collapse her ribcage.

For a moment, the courtyard below seemed to still be deserted. Suddenly, two suited men, decades too old to be students, raced in from the north side, red-faced and panting. They slid to a stop, glancing around in confusion, or frustration, before picking up their initial sprint that had morphed into a labored jog throughout the period of their chase, leaving through the east entrance. The club leaned away collectively from the window, exchanging confused glances silently. Haruhi was slowly turning blue.

"I don't get it," Tamaki murmured, clearly bemused. Instead of an answer, Kyoya quietly cut in.

"You're killing Haruhi, Tamaki." With a gasp, Tamaki and Kaoru disconnected, Tamaki sweeping the still gasping Haruhi into his eager arms.

"Haruhi, my darling! I'm so sorry, are you all right? I didn't cause any permanent damage, did I?" Once he released her, he ran worried, fluttery, long-boned hands down her face, his troubled, amethyst eyes entirely too close for comfort.

"I'm…fine…Tamaki…senpai," Haruhi managed, massaging sore ribs.

Attention would have remained on the pair if Hikaru hadn't muttered a strangled, "Hey." Glancing back at the window, the club swept back (except Tamaki, who screamed like a little girl who'd been pinched) as the chestnut-haired youth, panting and grinning like a fool, clambered through the window. He took to his feet with relative ease, bracing his hands on his knees as he bent over, gaining his breath quickly. His wavy hair fell into those glimmering eyes ringed with heavy lashes, and a mysterious smile played over well-shaped lips.

"Sorry," he managed, waving one hand in a sort of apology. "Just… gotta catch… my breath. I'll… be out… of your… hair… in a… sec." The stranger spoke flawless Japanese with a mild American accent, yet he possessed the difficult ability to speak in slang while maintaining understanding and context.

"Why were those men chasing you?" Kyoya asked in his no-nonsense tone. Most of the club had recovered from the shock—except Tamaki, who still quivered in the back. Now they were curious.

"Oh," the youth said with a husky laugh. "Those guys. They're not…. all that bad. Just doing… their job. Graham's going to be… livid when he finds out… I gave them the slip… again. But,… you know,… the price you pay… for a little space." He straightened, cracking his back audibly as he bent backwards. "Besides, nothing like a little foot chase to get the blood pumping." He seemed fully ready to continue talking when he froze like a statue, the gregarious smile vanishing from his face as his whole body sharpened like a hound taking to a scent. His dark green eyes went unfocused as he looked over Kyoya's shoulder at something the club couldn't see.

"Uh-oh," he murmured. "Gotta go." The words were bitten out before he raced away, fleet enough to leave the club blinking.

"We didn't even catch his name," Hikaru murmured as the youth streaked out of the doors he had thrown open only minutes ago. However, the quiet didn't last long. The two men, a little more red-faced and still panting, trundled into the music room, grinding their teeth to get the breath to talk.

"You kids seen someone go through here? Tall, brown hair, green eyes. Dressed in jeans?" A still recovering, painfully dazed Tamaki started to point out the door the youth had left through when Kyoya slapped his hand down sharply.

"Sorry, he was in the other room when the person you're talking about left. He went that way," the bespectacled genius said, pointing in the exact opposite direction their target had sprinted.

"Thanks," they managed before lumbering in the direction Kyoya had pointed. The club watched curiously as the pair left before turning to their vice president.

"What's the deal, Kyoya?" Kaoru questioned.

"Yeah, how come you pointed them in the wrong direction?" Hikaru questioned. Many of the club members had been raised with security guards, and were used to tolerating them with a certain sort of amicability. Kyoya's actions came as something of a surprise, displaying an uncharacteristic rebellion against authority.

"Because, gentlemen," Kyoya smoothly stated, "our impromptu guest clearly did not want to be found. It was the least we could do to at least respect his wishes. Besides, we gain nothing by aiding in their chase. We might as well let the kid have some fun." This made a strange sort of sense to the boys, who nodded and, after a time, scattered back to their previous activities. But this time the tranquility would not return.

The twins started sniping at each other with venomous enthusiasm. Tamaki still hadn't recovered from the whole ordeal of the stranger hopping through the window. Haruhi was having a hard time focusing on her trigonometry. And even the ice-cold Kyoya was struggling to re-establish the typing rhythm he had been cultivating for hours, forced to spend long periods of time with the Backspace button depressed.

Where was the youth? What was he doing? And who in heaven's name was he? Those were all questions the club pondered fruitlessly, and, for many of them, the puzzle of unanswered questions was a new and unwelcome phenomenon. Especially Kyoya, who had having a hard time accepting the fact that he really had no idea what was going on in that regard. It was a rare thing, and one he intended to correct soon. But for now, until the chase ended and the red-tape of bureaucracy took over, he was frozen. There was little the Shadow King liked less.

Not fifteen minutes later, the youth trotted back in. Every member leaped to their feet, questions on every man's, and woman's, tongue. But before one of them could get a word out, the guest started to chuckle, leaning against a wall as he shook his head, reacting to an internal joke that seemed quite amusing.

"I really underestimated you guys, you know. I thought," he said with a laugh, "I thought for sure that you'd point the suits after me. But you surprised me. A bunch of rich kids like you, I was certain that you'd play the game by their rules, not your own." It took a moment, but Haruhi was quick enough to speak first.

"Not all of us here are rich kids, you know," she said, belligerence clear in her voice. "Ouran Academy does offer scholarships."

"Only to truly exemplary students, I'm sure," the stranger said, the thoughtfulness in his voice surprising. "Forgive me. I'm impressed. So how'd a street-smart kid like you get stuck with these guys?"

"It's a long story, but I had a debt to pay, and becoming a Host seemed to the easiest way to clear myself of it." Haruhi's ease with the outsider surprised the club members. She normally wasn't nearly that warm or open to people she didn't know, but her confidence had seemed to be installed by a couple of warm words directed at her intelligence. Tamaki mentally made a note to remember that the next time Haruhi was mad at him.

"A Host, huh? And what exactly does a Host do?" the stranger continued, easily ignoring the rest of the club members. Tamaki and the twins were starting to itch after being ignored for so long, but Haruhi and the youth were commanding the conversation with aplomb.

"Supposedly, we entertain young women of equally impressive lineage and wealth." It didn't take Kyoya's keen vision to see the admiration and warmth fade from the stranger's eyes. "In reality," Haruhi continued blithely, an edge entering her voice the club members had rarely heard before, "this bunch of bored, entirely too good-looking for their own good boys enjoy being fawned over, and function under that first impression. They're not all that bad, though," Haruhi concluded.

"What, the girls?" the stranger queried.

"No, the club," Haruhi said with a chuckle. "They have their faults—trust me, do they have faults," she said with a roll of her eyes. "But they've got decent hearts, and normally all their trouble stems from their attempts to help somebody." A small smile had returned to the youth's face for a brief moment.

"I'll take your word for it, sweetpea." Tamaki instantly bristled while the rest of the club held their breaths. Did he know that Haruhi was a girl? And, if so, how had he figured it out? He'd seen her and talked to her for all the length of a minute. "So who are these fine gentlemen you've stuck yourself with?" Haruhi dutifully introduced each of the members, starting with the still mistrustfully squinting Tamaki and ending with the stoic Kyoya. The stranger bobbed his head at each name, that small smile playing around his mouth again.

"Rylee Sterling, recently from the old U.S. of A. I—" However, anything Rylee was going to say was lost as the two suits stomped into the room. Rylee pivoted and took off to the double doors on the east end of the room, racing away as if he had just started the chase instead of just ending it.

The security could barely manage "Rylee! Wait!" as they trailed after him. One looked on the verge of a heart attack. Just as Rylee turned through the doors, his trailing hand caught a vase. It was a clear, carefully blown creation that stood about a foot tall, slender and trumpeting, curling like a fountain at the top. In the beat of a heart, the vase plummeted, splintering like ice all over the floor. Rylee and his security were gone, and silence reigned. Finally Kyoya, in his cool, ready voice, broke the oppressive silence.

"Well, Haruhi. It would seem that Mr. Sterling just incurred a debt even you never reached. This should be interesting."

"He's like a human tempest," Hikaru said wonderingly as he knelt by the 19th century glass shards.

"It's a little intimidating," Kauro agreed as he leaned out to door to look down the empty hall Rylee had raced away through.

"Intimidating or not," Tamaki broke in, clearly recovering his power of speech, "Mr. Sterling has carelessly destroyed a priceless piece of Host Club property, and he will be made to pay for it."

"Umm, you guys?" Haruhi tried to say, but was duly ignored as Tamaki and Kyoya both warmed to their subjects. It was strange to see the normally cool headed Kyoya get into frothing cahoots with Tamaki. It must be since Rylee wasn't present to threaten or challenge; Kyoya had to vent somehow.

"A challenge, then. He'll be put under the same agreement as Haruhi was when she broke her vase. If he doesn't agree, we'll have to find some other way for him to pay it," Kyoya said, the relish in his voice making Haruhi raise her eyebrows.

"That ruffian. Who does he think he is, to go racing around the Academy as if it were some public playground he was welcome to? Like he didn't know who we are," Tamaki sniffed. If his nose were any higher, it would come clear off his face.

"He obviously didn't know who you guys are, seeing as he asked for introductions," Haruhi sensibly pointed out. But, as always happened in the midst of a Host Club crisis, no one listened. With a sigh, Haruhi left the room as the volume slowly escalated. Returning with a dust pan and brush, she carefully started brushing up the glass shards, to prevent anyone from getting cut. The outraged voices were getting louder, and a tension headache was building behind Haruhi's eyes. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.

"Enough!" Every one of the club members froze. "If you're so desperate to find this kid and ream him, then use your sacred connections—especially you, Kyoya—and find out his home room. If he's on the Ouran grounds, then wouldn't it stand to reason that he's a student?" If Haruhi wasn't mistaken, a faint, embarrassed flush rode high on Kyoya's high cheekbones at her words. Tamaki stuttered, and the twins retreated to mutter over her theory as to its validity. Briefly closing her eyes as she made her way to the trashcan, Haruhi mourned Honey-senpai and Mori-senpai's absence. Where were the silence and the sweetness when you needed it?

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_Several hours later_

"It would seem that you've had a rough start here, Rylee." Already bored, Rylee slouched back in the overstuffed leather chair in front of the school board chairman's broad, antique desk. The other seat next to the youth was empty. Nothing new there. Returning verdant eyes to Mr. Suoh's, Rylee grinned, a wicked glint to the curve over shining teeth.

"On the contrary. I've already established an intimate knowledge of the school grounds and buildings, not to mention my uncanny ability to make new friends. Boys you're well acquainted with, I hear. One of which seems to be your son." The chairman's reaction was exactly the one Rylee had been looking for. The slight-statured, distinguished brunette man stiffened at the mention of Tamaki and his band of handsome mischief-makers.

"You've met Tamaki?" The growl was a ghost around the edges of Mr. Suoh's tone, but the perceptive Rylee defied logic, grasping the smoke of the emotion with firm fingers as a slim brow arched. Leaning forward, elbows braced against knees while almost delicate fingers threaded together, Rylee fought the smirk.

"Indeed. I was so enamored with the lot of them, in fact, that I've decided to become a member. Of the, uh… Host Club. Yes, that's right. The Ouran High School Host Club. Starting tomorrow." Leaning back with an arm slung over the back of the chair in a distinctly victorious pose, Rylee knew the battle was won. It wasn't the first battle the youth had won against the chairman's ilk. Nor, no doubt, would it be the last.

"But, Rylee, that's—that's impossible! You're—" But Rylee waved away the man's protests.

"Trust me, those boys need me. And the Fujioka kid could use a little back-up. I'll come by tomorrow to get my uniform and any other… stuff I'll need." It had been some time since Rylee had been forced to mingle with those of her guardians' societal level. Language not appropriate to such distinguished ears had been commonplace for Rylee for some time now. It would be necessary to curb that behavior quickly. Rising on long legs that easily topped out the youth's height at 174 cm, Rylee granted one of the wealthiest men in Japan a nonchalant wave as the youth strolled out. Shoving one hand into a jean's pocket while the other brushed back rebellious strands that fell into emerald eyes, Rylee considered the day a good one. Raise a little hell, make a few friends, break a few vases, mess with a couple adults. There was nothing Rylee enjoyed more.

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_Yay!! Host Club fandom!! I love, love this show, and Kyoya immediately stood out as my favorite. They're all so exceptional, I'd like to see what would happen when they really started to grow and were expected to perform. Someone with as much potential as the third Ootori son is sure to rock this world. If you haven't caught on to the obvious undercurrents, well, then the surprise later will be all the better. If you have, then enjoy the discovery for the fun and the giggles. If you're wondering where Honey senpai and Mori senpai are, they graduated. Clarification on the heights—Kyoya is 181 cm tall, or just a fraction over 5'11". Which makes Rylee between 5'8" and 5'9" tall. The titles will make more sense as we move along. Hope you like it!!_


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